Page 69 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

“I’ve got you.” I press my lips to her throat in an open mouthed kiss. “Don’t fucking stop. Ride it out. Give it all to me.”

I slam in again. And again. I feel it coming and I’m ready to let go. I come with a grunt, my entire body spasming. The pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful.

She reaches up from my shoulders to my face, cupping it with a softness that makes my fucking chest ache.

Neither of us says a word.

But neither of us lets go either.

Chapter 20

Lola

Istare at the ceiling for a long time.

There’s this shallow groove in the plaster that I keep tracing with my eyes, back and forth, over and over. It doesn’t lead anywhere. Neither do my thoughts.

The sheets are a tangled mess around me. I never moved to fix them after round two. Honestly, I haven’t moved at all.

Reid must have left earlier and I’m grateful for that. I can’t do the “morning after” thing with him right now. Or ever.

I feel like I should be angry at myself for letting it happen. I’m not though. The truth is I needed it. And I’d do it again if he walked through my door right now.

That’s the worst part. It was so damn easy to let go with him.

But it’s easy with Jude too. He never expects more than I want to give. He knows how to hold me when I need to be held and how to shut up when silence is the only thing I can handle. Being around him feels comfortable and easy.

Then there’s Miles. Sweet, dependable Miles. I fucked that one up royally. What kind of person makes a confession like that and slips away without a word? I can’t even imagine what it must have felt like to wake up alone the next morning. He hasn’t responded to any of my texts since then.

I never made them any promises. I never told any of them I belonged to them. And I don’t owe them anything. That doesn’t stop the guilt from crawling up the back of my throat.

None of this was planned. But I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to. I want different things from each of them. Comfort. Escape. Punishment.

When I finally roll out of bed, it’s only because I can’t lie in my own worries any longer. My limbs feel heavy, sore in all the places that used to be numb. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. There’s a bruise on my thigh that I know came from him, and I trace it with my fingertips.

I don’t want to sort through all these feelings right now. I just want coffee.

The second I step into the kitchen, I regret it.

Gigi’s perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, already holding court. She’s still wearing Reid’s jersey. This time she’s cuffed the sleeves and tied the hem in a knot at her waist.

“I’m just saying,” she tells Blaire, “we’d be unstoppable. I mean, he’s the brooding ex-pro, I’m the intuitive healer. Wellness power couple, obviously. Can’t you see it? The branding simply writes itself.”

Blaire snorts into her mug. “It’s perfect.”

My jaw tightens. I walk past them without a word, heading straight for the coffee machine. I pour myself a cup and continue ignoring them.

Gigi doesn’t stop. She actually raises her voice to make sure I hear her.

“God, I was so sore this morning,” she says, stretching her arms above her head. “Pilates, obviously.”

Not at my studio you back-stabbing bitch.

“Obviously,” Blaire deadpans.

The worst part isn’t even the performance.

It’s how transparent it is.